Madame Serpent (33 page)

He proved to be a man of some intelligence and he talked eloquently. It was easy to see that the King was not unimpressed. It was impossible, Henry was obviously thinking, not to admire spirit and courage, and these the man un-undoubtedly had, even though his religious views were to be regretted.

Catherine was trembling. She longed now to impose her will upon the man,

as she could do easily enough with such as Madalenna. There was within

Catherine a power which she did not fully understand. There were times when she would have a clear vision of something which had not at the time happened and which certainly would. It was a queer gift over which she had no control.

But this other gift of concentration which enabled her to make others do as she wished in certain circumstances, she felt she was more able to guide.

How stimulating it was to endeavour to work her will on others! Now she

wished the tailor to see her as the poor neglected Queen of France, humiliated by the haughty harlot in black-and-white. No doubt he thought of her as that, but at this moment, his mind was far from the relationship of the King with his wife and mistress. Catherine would bring his thoughts to this matter, because she desired to will him to make an outburst, before all these people, against Diane.

She caught the man’s eye and held it for several seconds. She forced herself to see herself through his eyes― the neglected wife, betrayed by a husband with an adulteress. She saw herself, if she had power, pleading for the Huguenots and Calvinists, helping those of the Protestant faith.

She felt the sweat in the palms of her hands; she was almost faint with the effort she had made.

Then Diane put a question to the tailor, and the moment had come.

‘Madame,’ he cried in ringing tones as he turned to the King’s mistress, ‘rest assured with having corrupted France and do not mingle your filth with a thing so sacred as the truth of God.’

The silence which followed this outburst lasted seconds, but it seemed

longer to Catherine. The King had risen. His face was scarlet. Diane had been insulted. Henry, who had humiliated his Queen in a thousand ways, would not stand by and hear a word against his mistress.

Everyone was waiting for the King to speak, holding her head high and

seemed haughtier than ever. Catherine, recovered from her mental strain,

endeavoured to look as shocked as any present that a humble tailor could so speak of the Duchess of Valentinois. The tailor stood defiant, unabashed, his eyes raised to the ceiling; he cared nothing, this man, because he believed that God and all the angels were on his side.

And while the King stood there, slow in his anger, struggling to find the words he needed to express his hatred for this man, two of the guards strode forward and seized the wretched tailor.

‘Take him!’ said Henry, through clenched teeth. ‘He shall be burned alive in the Rue Saint-Antoine, and I myself will watch him burn.’

The tailor threw back his head and laughed.

He called to the saints to witness the puny revenge of a dishonourable King who had promised that he might be allowed to speak freely. Did they think to hurt him through what they could do to his miserable body? He welcomed

death. He would die a hundred deaths for the true faith.

Catherine, as she watched the man carried out, knew that Henry was already ashamed of his conduct. This was the second time he had been publicly

humiliated through Diane. Would he realize this? Would he not feel some

resentment? Or was this just another of those petty victories which led nowhere?

———————

Catherine watched her husband pace up and down his room. Through the

open window they could hear the tramp of feet and the low chanting of many voices.

The wretched procession had almost completed its miserable journey

through the streets.

Catherine took her place beside the King at the window. He was already

regretting that he had sworn to see the tailor burn. He had no stomach for this sort of thing.

Catherine, ever inclined to indiscretion in his presence, wondered whether she should whisper to him: ‘It is through Diane that you suffer thus. You would not be standing at this window now to watch a wretched man perish in the

flames by your orders if it were not for her. She has brought you to this. Do you not see that if you would but listen to your Queen you need never suffer thus? I would never lead you to indiscretions such as this. I would never have let you humiliate yourself over the de Vivonne-de Chabot affair. Oh, my darling, why will you not be wise and love your wife so that she does not have to plot to humiliate you!’

But she would not again be trapped into betraying herself.

She said softly: ‘They are tying up the tailor now.’

‘Catherine,’ said Henry, ‘There is a strangeness about the man.’

‘Yes,’ she answered.

‘A look of― what is it― do you know?’

‘A look of martyrdom, Henry.’

Henry shivered.

‘They are lighting his faggots now,’ said Catherine. ‘Soon he will take his arguments to the Judgment Seat, I wonder how he will fare there.’

‘Methinks he sees us.’

Catherine drew back. From where he was placed, that he might be seen from the palace windows, the tailor could command as good a view of the King as the King could of him.

The tailor’s eyes found those of the King, and would not let them go. They stared at one another― the King in jewel-encrusted velvet, the tailor in his rough shirt.

Catherine watched the red flame as it crackled about the martyr’s feet; she saw the cruel fire run like a wild thing up the coarse shirt. She waited for the cry of agony but none broke from the tailor’s lips. Others groaned in their misery, but not the tailor.

The man’s lips were moving; he was praying to God; and all the time he

prayed, his eyes never left those of the King.

‘Catherine!’ said Henry in a hoarse whisper; and hand groping for hers; his palms were clammy and he was trembling. ‘He will not take his eyes from me, Catherine.’

‘Look away, Henry.’

‘Catherine― I cannot.’

Nor could he.

Catherine crossed herself. It was as though the tailor had put a spell on the King, for Henry wanted to run from the window, to shut out the sight of the tailor’s agony, but he could not; and he knew that, for the rest of his life, he would never forget the dying tailor.

But Catherine had almost forgotten the tailor, for Henry had turned to her for comfort; and it was her hand that he held. She was thinking,
Out of small
victories, large ones grow; a small miracle can be the forerunner of a great
one.

Henry was praying silently for the protection of the saints; and all the time, he stood there staring, until with sudden crackling and roaring the faggots at the tailor’s feet collapsed, and the flames roared up and the martyr’s face was hidden by a wall of fire.

THE KING’S INDISCRETION

CATHERINE LAY at Saint-Germain. Another boy had just been born. This

was Charles Maximilian; and she had now three sons― Francis, Louis, who was more sickly than his elder brother, and Charles.

She should have been a happy woman, since that fertility for which she had once fervently prayed was hers; but her miserable jealousy persisted.

Only this morning, she had heard women talking beneath her window, and

getting up from her bed, she had gone to the window and crouched there

listening.

‘The King has gone to Anet.’

‘To Anet! At such a time! His place is here with his wife and new-born son.’

Catherine had imagined the lift of the shoulders, the sly smiles.

‘Oh yes, my friend, it is the custom, is it not, to be with his Queen at such a time? In all things deeply sensible to what is right and what is wrong. But when Madame de Valentinois beckons― ah then, it is another matter.’

‘Poor Queen Catherine! How sad she must be to find herself and her new

son so neglected!’

‘The Queen?―’ The voice dropped so low that Catherine could not hear.

And then: ‘Something― strange about the Queen. I do not think she cares.’

Catherine laughed grimly. Not care indeed! And something strange? Perhaps they were right there. But what a cruel thing when a Queen must be pitied by her women!

Deliberately, then, the woman of Anet had lured Henry from Saint-Germain

at such a time.

Catherine rose from her bed. Useless to remove the desk and rug and look

into the room below. Instead she prayed; she; she wept; she cried out bitterly; and the subject of her prayers was: ‘Holy Mother of God, show me a miracle!’

———————

Was this the miracle?

It was Madalenna who brought the news to her. ‘I have news, Gracious

Majesty. The Duchesse de Valentinois lies sick at Anet.’

Sick at Anet!
Catherine’s heart began to beat more quickly. This was it. Her prayers were answered.

‘The King is at Anet, Madalenna.’

‘Yes, the King is with Madame
la Duchesse,
but it is said that she is very sick indeed.’

Catherine could not wait to summon the Ruggieri brothers to her. It was

dusk, and, putting on her cloak, she went to see them. She was as active as ever after the birth of five children all following close upon one another. She hurried to the house by the river.

She knew, as soon as she entered the house, that Cosmo and Lorenzo had

heard the news. There was that stubborn look in their faces, that suspicion, as though they believed that in some way, although she had not long left her bed, she had contrived, in spite of their warnings and their care, to administer poison to the Duchess of Valentinois.

She was impatient with them, as they immediately closed all doors, drew the shutters and sent out their two servants, although they were Italians. They were afraid of the Queen’s obsession.

‘You have heard the news, I see,’ she said, not without a touch of scorn.

‘It is grave news,’ said Cosmo.

‘Grave news indeed! It is the best news I have heard for many years.’

‘Beloved and Most Gracious Majesty,’ begged Cosmo, ‘we implore you to

be calm. The Duchess is ill and none knows the illness. Rumour spreads like fire on windy nights in this city.’

Catherine drummed her fingers on the table. ‘Oh yes, yes. There will be

some to say that I have had something slipped into her wine, sprinkled on her food, spread over the pages of a book― I know. They will accuse me of

poisoning her.’

‘It will be well for us all if the Duchess recovers.’

‘It will not be well for me.’ She stared first at one brother then at the other.

‘Lorenzo, Cosmo,’ she said piteously, ‘I would give all my worldly goods to hear that she was dead.’

‘Madame, in the streets they talk,’ said Cosmo.

‘Talk! Talk! I know they talk. They will always talk. They accused me of

having the Dauphin poisoned. I tell you I had no intention of having the

Dauphin poisoned. Yet they accused me.’

‘It is well that those whose death will bring advantage to us should not die,’

said Lorenzo.

‘Lorenzo, she will have to die one day. Why should it not be now?’ She

stood up and faced them. ‘You have the means here. You have poisons― subtle poisons. Give me the key of your cabinet, Lorenzo.’

‘Beloved Majesty, my brother and I will serve you every way you wish―

but we cannot let you destroy yourself.’

When she was with these men, she felt she had no need to hide her feelings; and now she was hysterical with― unsatisfied desire, with humiliation and frustration

‘You mean you would destroy yourselves!’ she cried angrily. ‘That is it,

Lorenzo! That is it, Cosmo! You fear the Boot and the Water Torture― and

horrible death! You are not afraid for me― but for yourselves. What could I lose by her death? Nothing! I have everything to gain. I cannot be displaced. I am the mother of the future King of France. I command you to give me the key of your cabinet.’

The two brothers looked fearfully at each other.

‘Madame,’ began Lorenzo desperately, ‘I implore you―’

‘And I command you!’

Imperiously, Catherine held out her hand.

Cosmo nodded, and Lorenzo drew out the silver chain from under his

doublet, on which hung the key.

Catherine snatched it, and strode towards the cabinet. The astrologers

watched her, without moving.

She stood, looking at the array of bottles; each contained a substance which she knew could produce death. These brothers had taught her a little concerning their secrets; she had insisted on their doing so; therefore she was by no means ignorant on this matter of poisons.

‘Give me something, Lorenzo.’ She swung round and faced them.

‘Something tasteless.’

The brothers did not move; they could only watch her with horrified eyes.

Their thoughts flitted from this room to the sickening horror of the
salle de la
question
in the Conciergerie.

Catherine stamped her foot. ‘This!’ she said, and laid her hand on a bottle.

Lorenzo took a step forward. ‘Majesty, you could not do it. It would be

necessary to take others into your confidence.’

‘I have my friends.’

‘The Boot makes a havoc of the strongest ties of friendship, Madame.’

‘You think of nothing but torture. Have I not suffered uneasy torture in my apartments at Saint-Germain?’

‘Madame, allow us to have that hole filled in. It was a mistake that it should ever have been made.’

She felt tears in her eyes, and, looking from Lorenzo to Cosmo, she thought of them as two little boys whom she had known and who had been her friends in the Medici Palace when Alessandro was her enemy. They were her friends, true friends; and although they feared disaster for themselves, they also feared it for her. They were wise men.

They saw her hesitation and she was aware of their relief. Perhaps she

herself was also relieved. She felt that storm of passion passing. She was preparing to be calm Catherine who had learned the art of patience, the wisdom of waiting, the benefits of working in the dark.